


the one where he saves you, then tries to kill you

by antikytheras



Series: with love, your morally reprehensible demon ex-boyfriend [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demon Hunters, Body Horror, M/M, Romantic Comedy, actual demon!leon, demon hunter!raihan, respect the warnings please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23033890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antikytheras/pseuds/antikytheras
Summary: In the hospital manual, it is written that limbs are considered organs, and must therefore be disposed of as such.
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan
Series: with love, your morally reprehensible demon ex-boyfriend [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655443
Comments: 19
Kudos: 95





	the one where he saves you, then tries to kill you

**Author's Note:**

> credit for the summary/opening line goes to [eon](https://twitter.com/werfenspeer)
> 
> in a strange turn of events, [verti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verti) is 1) now my patron god and 2) demanding offerings of "good fulfilling dnkb" so this is my life now i guess

In the hospital manual, it is written that limbs are considered organs, and must therefore be disposed of as such.

Raihan does not know why he is flipping through the book left on a blood-splattered desk. Perhaps it is the shock of no longer having a left arm that has numbed his brain to the incessant flickering of the white lights overhead. Or perhaps, it could be the creepy atmosphere of the dark, long-abandoned hospital that compels him to find some sense of normalcy in a two hundred-page long instruction manual. Or perhaps, just perhaps, he has finally, _finally_ lost his mind.

He would not be the first, and he would most certainly not be the last. His field of work is not known for being kind to its agents’ mental health. It is, however, quite infamous for its frequency of work-related deaths.

A music box chimes in the distance. It is getting closer.

Raihan gently closes the book and sets it in the corner furthest from where he had spurted blood all over the table. Then, he pulls out his silver knife and crouches behind the desk, listening for any more disturbances.

What a pathetic way to go.

Soon, the music box is screaming in his ears. He knows that whatever is waiting for him is just beyond the door to the office he is currently hiding in like a novice wet behind the ears.

He waits, because there is little else he can do in his current _(pathetic)_ state.

Then, there is a terribly familiar, bone-chilling _sigh_ , and the cry of the music box screeches to a halt, and all is silent.

Raihan closes his eyes. Of course things would come to this.

The voice of pure evil opens the door with too-human hands.

‘Well, well. What have we here?’

The voice is a mocking taunt. Raihan refuses to meet it.

‘Get out.’

Leon steps over an unmoving mass of darkness lying across the threshold. It does not move when he accidentally _(deliberately)_ stomps on what may have once been its face.

There is unholy joy shining in those unnatural golden eyes. ‘You can’t hide from me forever.’

Raihan knows. So he grabs the edge of the desk with the blade of the silver knife digging into his palm, and hauls himself up to find the face Leon wears staring at him, less than a hair’s breadth away, his grin splitting from ear to ear.

He does not flinch, but his grip does tighten, and then there is more blood dripping from him, this time from the palm of his one remaining hand.

Leon’s eyes crawl down his body. Raihan fights the urge to shudder.

‘Who did this to you?’

His entire body is frozen, but he knows that Leon loves his smart mouth enough to leave only that part of him unpetrified. ‘None of your fuckin’ business—’

And yet he is helpless when Leon runs a long, slender finger along the side of his wrist. The knife falls from his hand, clattering to the floor. It smokes in Leon’s shadow.

Leon takes his hand and inspects the cut. No matter how Raihan screams at his body to _move_ , there is no way for him to escape when Leon brings the hand to his mouth and trails his soft, wet tongue along the seams of his broken skin. Leon’s eyes burn bright, but his flesh burns hotter when it knits itself back together.

‘You know I don’t like it when you hurt yourself,’ Leon says lightly. It is a threat.

Raihan swallows. ‘Fuck off.’

Leon is not listening, because Raihan is not saying the words he wants to hear. ‘Now, tell me who stole your arm.’

‘They’re dead.’

Leon laughs like the wind combing through wind-chimes. ‘You know that doesn’t matter to me.’

Raihan does not think about what happened to the demon with the cry of a music box.

Once the silence stretches too long for Leon’s tastes, Raihan sees the amusement fade from the demon’s eyes. Impatient, he reaches for Raihan’s face and presses their lips together.

It is a sweet, hateful kiss.

Raihan feels his eyes close. Leon searches his memory with the same exquisite care with which he tugs at Raihan’s puppet-strings. The darkness invades his mind like parasitic worms pulsating in the eyestalks of a doomed snail, extending and contracting over and over until they have carved a path of their own into the mad creature’s flesh.

Leon breaks the kiss with a satisfied, ‘ _Ah_.’

Raihan hates the flash of relief that grips his heart when Leon allows him to shudder.

‘Wait here,’ Leon tells him, stepping away. ‘I have a gift for you.’

The skin over Raihan’s heart, where Leon had left his mark all those years ago, heats to a searing burn. The fire bursts through his shirt. Raihan does not need to look down to know that the demon’s brand is glowing with unholy light.

It is a loud, flashy, arrogant signal to every malicious life form in a ten-mile radius. _This one is mine_.

Raihan is left to stand, alone, in the back office of a haunted hospital with nothing more than acrid smoke overwhelming his lungs and the sound of his laboured breathing in his own ears.

Leon’s overwhelming presence fades, bit by bit, as he makes his way down the hallway Raihan had come running from. Raihan’s hand twitches, and for a second, he thinks he might be able to break out of the spell—

And then the brand on his chest _hurts_.

 _Behave_ , is the cruel voice that sings in his heart.

 _I fucking loathe you_ , is the worst thing Raihan can think to say in reply.

Leon does not grace him with a reply, but the brand does burn darker.

It is a testament to Raihan’s years of experience when, after some time, he manages to pick out the faintest sound of something horrible squelching, and then a long, awful, otherworldly scream.

Leon allows him to close his eyes.

When he opens them again, Leon is standing in front of him, smiling like the cat who got the cream. The mark on Raihan’s chest no longer burns, if only because the demon is here in the flesh to claim his favourite toy.

‘Bested by a Class-3A entity? You’re getting soft.’ The haughty arrogance in Leon’s gaze grows sharp.

The mission had been for a lone Class-1 imp causing a ruckus in an old abandoned hospital. It was the kind of assignment that novice demon hunters were sent off on to build their confidence and increase their kill count. But then of _course_ the abandoned hospital had to have a secret abandoned organ-harvesting basement, full of malicious, powerful demons that had more than enough power to seal him inside with no way to call for help.

_(His mark had burned on all the occasions he had cheated death, but he would rather die to an imp than summon the demon he had foolishly contracted to.)_

Leon holds out a severed arm. Raihan does not want to think about how he managed to recognise it among the heap of dismembered organs in the room where Raihan had found himself on the wrong end of an ambush.

‘I believe this is yours?’

Raihan says nothing.

Leon smiles with too-many-teeth. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

Raihan hates how he is compelled by the force of his own curiosity to watch as Leon puts the arm down onto the desk with the organ disposal manual. The curiosity turns to mute horror when Leon’s claws burst forth from the sack of flesh he inhabits, and Raihan realises what he plans to do.

He can only watch as Leon jabs his hand into the juncture between his own left arm and chest. His claws pierce the human flesh easily, and there is a sickening crack and _snap_ as he tears through bone and sinew.

There is no blood when Leon’s left arm falls to the ground with a thud. It is a heavier sound than Raihan had expected.

Then, Leon picks up Raihan’s severed arm reverently, and holds it against his empty left shoulder. Something dark and purple shoots out from the hole in his body, enveloping the arm in a cocoon of writhing purple mist.

When the mist fades, it is like nothing had ever happened. The arm attached to Leon’s left shoulder looks like a carbon copy of the one on the ground.

He cannot run.

Raihan’s heart hammers painfully when Leon reaches down to scoop up the remaining arm.

He cannot hide.

‘What’s mine is yours, remember?’ Euphoria lights up the darkness in Leon’s face. ‘And what’s yours is mine.’

He cannot scream.

Leon’s eyes are cruel, shining pools when he promises, ‘And I am still the only one who can hurt you.’

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/syorobao)


End file.
